As they made the turn onto Orchard Lane, Keir turned to Alison. “Which house: yours or mine?”
“They’re both ours now,” she said. “Either way is fine.”
They settled on Alison’s cottage—it was closer—but whether her tiny cottage, Keir’s larger stone house, or even the absurd mansion that was Weldan House someday, it didn’t matter. Home was here, wherever Keir was. Wherever her friends were.
Wilderise was her home.
Epilogue
Afew months later, Alison had Gwenla, Charlotte, and Julian to the cottage for tea while Keir was at Mrs. Knox’s checking on her sister’s hip, which had healed even better than expected thanks to a bit of quiet magic.
The Knox sisters were planning the trip of a lifetime to the continent and beyond, which would leave Charlotte in charge of the bakery for the longest period since Lupercalia. But Charlotte’s baking had come a long way since then, Alison observed, as she sampled a delicate Gallic dessert that seemed to be made of a thousand layers of pastry filled with a light custard and topped with an intricate swirl of chocolate and cream icing.
“How in the world did you make this?” asked Alison. It looked like witchcraft to someone who could barely fry an egg.
“The icing is easier than it looks,” said Charlotte. “You just sort of glob it on and run it through with a toothpick.”
“The pastry isn’t easy, though,” said Julian.
“I used the docking technique you showed me,” said Charlotte, smiling brightly at him. And then, turning to Alison and Gwenla, “It’s a method of pricking the dough with a fork to keep it nice and flat when it bakes. My first go was a bit lumpy.”
“Still delicious, though,” said Julian.
Alison was glad to see the two of them getting along so well. On more than one occasion, she went into town to find they’d switched shops, with Charlotte helping to sell the wine while Julian enjoyed some time exchanging baking techniques with Mrs. Knox.
And she was glad to see that Charlotte had found a way to settle back into the life she had abandoned. It was good to have her home, for everyone’s sake.
The door into the cottage opened, letting in the fragrant smell of the gardenia growing just outside.
“Don’t get up,” said Keir, dropping his bag on the desk. Gwenla was already halfway to the kitchen to pour him some tea. “I’ve got the post here.”
He had quite a stack in his hands. He tilted the stack back to reveal a small package at the bottom. “This one is from Northern Publishing.”
“Open it!” said Gwenla from the kitchen.
“I’ll open that one last,” said Alison. She was a bit nervous about what was inside.
On the top was a postcard with a lovely illustration of a cove with gentle waves washing up onto a sandy shore. “It’s from Weyland,” said Alison.
“Is that one of his?” asked Charlotte. “I had no idea beaches could look like that.”
It was indeed one of Weyland’s drawings, Alison saw from the signature at the bottom. She pointed it out to Charlotte.
“Are they still at the Rock?” asked Gwenla, returning with Keir’s tea. “Are they ever coming back?”
“Let’s see,” said Alison.
Alison and Keir,
Hope all is well at home. Two surprises for you:
1)We’re finally heading back. As reassuring as your update was regarding Duncan’s turn as a substitute, Sib can’t make it one more day away from the school.
2)I finally did what we discussed at Winter Solstice. And it turns out, Sib couldn’t make it one more day without being my wife either, so we’ll be returning to you as a married couple. The picture on thefront is where it happened. Not bad for a village blacksmith, eh?
Let me know when you hear about the book.
All our love,
